Rising Darkness, Time and Tide
by PhoenixDragonDreamer
Summary: The overly pale, overly tired looking man in the crumpled tan trench-coat didn't bother to glance at him. Not even a squint over the perpetual cigarette held loosely between his lips. He kept looking at the mill-wheel, the slow creak and turn comforting even as it was eerie and out of place with the modern world.


**Warnings:** Character Study, Introspection, Angst, Mild Dark!fic  
**A/N:** This was written just because I _had_ to. Once more what I had (semi) planned to write and what eventually allowed itself to be penned were two different things. I wasn't really sure why I wrote this fiction, only that the urge to mix the two universes was too strong to resist in the end. This is my first time writing Constantine, so I am very, very nervous and quite sure I messed up everything all around (and that includes my beloved Doctor). But in the end, I knew I had to post it. So for better or worse, here it be. As always, this fic is mostly unbeta'd and written in one go, so please forgive any mistakes and/or blatant vagueness. And (as per usual), I apologize for any repetition, misspellings, sentence fails, grammatical oh-noes and general horridness. Unbeta'd fic is overly-thinky/blithery and unbeta'd.  
**Disclaimer(s): **_I do not own the scrumptious Doctor or his lovely companions. That honor goes to the BBC and (for now) the fantastic S. Moffat. I also do not own Constantine/Hellblazer. _That_ honor belongs to DC Comics and NBC. The only thing that belongs to me is this fiction - and I am making no profit. Only playing about!_

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"You should have answered when I called, ya know."

The overly pale, overly tired looking man in the crumpled tan trench-coat didn't bother to glance at him. Not even a squint over the perpetual cigarette held loosely between his lips. He kept looking at the mill-wheel, the slow creak and turn comforting even as it was eerie and out of place with the modern world.

So that made three of them, then.

"I know," was the quiet reply. One hand came up to wave the smoke away, which earned a quirk of the lips from his companion. Amusement that was more resentment – but really, that was John Constantine for you.

"But then, that's what you do, isn't it?" A mild sniff, cigarette carelessly flicked before being shoved haphazardly between lips that had tightened with weary frustration. "Never come when you are called. Not a bloody tame lion, are you?"

"Those things will kill you," was the only retort. Not appropriate, but then, nothing was really appropriate when it came to them. Politics and politeness wasn't exactly their style.

"They can get in line, along with the rest of the rising darkness. Think cancer is the least of my concerns at the moment, mate." Another sniff, a casual shrug – cigarette crushed between two fingers and flicked away, hint taken. "But that doesn't exactly answer the bloody question, does it?"

"I seem to have that habit," the other man replied, shoes shuffling only slightly in the packed dirt, jacket being straightened almost subconsciously. But he didn't reach for his bowtie. There was no way to resolve this one. He was already too late. "Never there when needed, always there when I'm not wanted. Must be this face, really. All these years and the timing is still off."

"Everybody has excuses," another tight smile. "But I can't really complain, can I? I mean, you didn't show at Newcastle either, did ya? When our balls were really to the wall, put in a call to all of time and space and still –"

He made a waving motion with his hand, air puffing out short and sharp from his lips. This time he did sneak a glance though, the tight smile getting tighter and closing off with a twist of contempt from his lips.

"But then, what else do I expect, yeah? No better than that bloody angel that's always hanging about now. Too little too late in my reckoning. But then, no one seems to really care about my reckoning, do they?"

"I know it doesn't help, John – but honestly, there was nothing I could do. Newcastle was going to happen. If I had shown up, if I had gotten the message on time, things could have gone a whole lot worse. You know that, don't you?" Still quiet, movements minimal and just as weary as John looked, all animation drained from his frame. "I wish I had, all the same. Just so you would look at me."

"Look, piss off, alright?" And now he was looking at him, righteous fire and Heaven-backed fury, looking every inch the man so many worshipped so blindly before following him into disaster. He knew the appeal. He saw it himself every time he offered for one of Them to come away with him. He knew what it was to have someone hang the stars on you, on the hope you brought – even up to the moment they died.

"No better than that cryptic messenger boy the lads upstairs saw fit to saddle me with. So just piss off to your blue box and leave me to my pathetic scramble for humanity with one foot in the Pit, yeah? S'what you're good at, innit? Running off and leaving us to the clean-up?"

"That's not fair." A little less quiet, with some of his own righteous fury to throw back. "You have one planet, one time-line. The messes I clean up come from here, but ripple back along the vortex, leaving little black holes that eat and eat until I plug them up. You're not the only one who loses, John Constantine. Not by a long shot. And if you'd care to dismount that high-horse and get your head out of your arse, maybe you'd realize that."

John smiled. A real smile that lit up his eyes and crinkled them at the corners, humor and approval quirking his lips as he dug out the pack of crumpled cigarettes, his energy more open and relaxed as he fished his zippo out of his jacket-pocket. The tightness and closeness of his stance drained away and he snapped the lighter open with a careless flick of his wrist, flame applied to the new smoke in a way that bespoke of long habit.

"Alright then, oh master of all time and space," voice warmer, rougher with fondness. "What brings you around these parts then, if it isn't just to straighten my whiny arse out?"

"Came to check on the house, really," a sheepish shrug, hair tossed out of his eyes with a flick of his fingers, head tilting as he half-grinned amusement at the perpetual turn of the mill-wheel. "Every now and again, the dimensions need poking at, make sure they stay stable. And to see Chas."

A pause, fingers coming up to tug thoughtfully at his bowtie, only half-aware of the deepening lines around Constantine's eyes, as though the move amused him.

"Come to think of it, why are you out here?" Half-curious and half-resigned, as though the answer was laying about in the dirt for him to guess at. "Did I rip a hole in the continuum somewhere? Again?"

"Nah. Well, not this time, mate." The last was said with a clap to the tweed-clad shoulders, fingers subtly steering him towards the little house attached to the wheel, the whole place screaming small and unassuming. "I've got a little surprise for you. I knew you were coming – well, I was warned anyway – and I remembered that I changed the locks. Mind you, I was blind-drunk when I did it, so they might've been a tad trickier than usual. Zed thought it best I pop up and show you in – rather than you getting blasted in the face with warding spells."

"Ah, yes – I remember those fondly," was the rueful reply. Then, "wait a moment – Zed? Have you been recruiting again, John Constantine?"

"That's a long story, one best told over a drink."

"I don't drink."

"That's okay, Doc," was the flippant response. "I can drink enough for the both of us. I have a feeling we'll be spending a bit of time catching up – and you can meet my new…friend."

"Zed?" Curiously.

"Zed," was the confirming answer. Constantine stopped long enough to mumble at the door before pushing it open, one hand waving to welcome the Doctor inside.

"John, is that you?" A deep male voice called from inside. "The Doctor with you? Or were you your usual charming self?"

"Nahh, the Doctor's here," a soft, slightly accented female voice responded. "Seems he's a little harder to put off than most. We've got the glasses out and the fire built up, John – so bring him down and let me meet him already."

With a smile and another wave, the two magicians descended the stairs, the door above them closing with a soft click, wards scrolling back into being as though they had never been disturbed.

Outside, the mill-wheel turned, picturesque, quaint and not of this modern world. The little house attached (bigger on the inside) seemed to settle into its foundations; content, mundane and still of use despite all appearances. Then again, appearances aren't everything. Truly, they mean very little in so many, many ways.

Nothing knew this truth like the little house, nestled inside the border of trees, accessible only by a road that could lead you to it if you truly were of need. Jasper had done right by that house. And the house returned the favor, even after the owner was long gone. There was a lot to protect this night and the house fully intended to do what it was built for, the little place seeming to almost gather the shadows around it as it hunkered in for a long night, satisfied with its place in the world and the people it chose to house. It seemed to pay no attention as it dozed to the blue, blue box behind the mill wheel, both homes aware of one another, even as they found companionship in the quiet; one sleeping the sleep of the just, as the other shone a beacon into the dark, dispelling the things that lived within that dark.

The darkness would rise, of that there was no doubt. It was foretold, as many things are – and like too many prophecies, it made up its own rules as it went along. So as it is and ever shall be. But on this night, for this moment, it was being beat back by those who would stand against it. Tonight the darkness would not find its way here. And for now? That would more than do.

Like the softest of breezes, the air outside the doors stirred, the wards flaring brightly with extra protection before fading back to ordinary wood and metal, the creak and dip of the wheel dulled by the thunderclap of mighty wings. It was subtle, eerily soft in the dense solitude – and then just as rapidly as it had come, it was gone again – just another one of those instances that may have been more than they seemed.

Manny smiled at the quaint mill-wheel attached to its impossible house and nodded his acknowledgement to his sister within the box, his disappearance quieter than his arrival. His charge was in good hands. There was nothing more to be done this night, this mission (if that truly was what it could be called), was a success. The crossroads had been met and the aid they had sought so long was finally coming about.

Maybe there was hope to be had after all. Only the future could truly tell that tale; though, at this time, that future looked brighter than it had before. It was still bleak, still uncertain against the fabric of fate – but like the light on top of the box of bluest blue – there was finally a new beacon against the rising darkness.

And that, too, would definitely more than do.


End file.
